Author's Note: Rated R
I own nothing, not the people, not the book series. I just own the plot. I don't own the song "Let You Down", Three Days Grace does.
Warnings:
Incest, non-consentual sex, heterosexual implications, hurt, special ending. In this installment, I...do horrible things to a character that I personally hate. I find this character to be relatively useless and pointless. As well as extremely unattractive. CHARACTER DEATH sodon'tsuemetheend.
~A
"LET YOU DOWN"
[Trust me.]
Poor child. She was so tender and naive and frightened. But so pulled to you that you could not help but reach out to her grasping hand and take it and hold it against your chest and look her in the eyes and tell her, "Trust me." (But it was a lie. You could not be trusted. She should have known. Silly, silly girl. Already Lavender owed you 3 sickles, having bet those 3 sickles that the girl would never come to you for..."love". Pansy Parkinson had bet 5.)
[There's no need to fear.]
She was so afraid. Terrified of it all: the pain, ("What if it hurts? I don't like pain. The very first time, it hurt so badly," she'd whimpered, pushing your hand away. You'd frowned. "Of course it hurt. Your first time was with Fred and George. And it was anal," you'd said, leaning in closer for a kiss. You would get what you were after. You always did.), what if her Mum found out ("She'd hex me for a million lifetimes!"), what if anyone found out ("Sweet Merlin, think of what this could do to my reputation!"). Such a self-centered girl, really. Hard to believe that anyone so vapid would be so drawn to you. She held herself in such high-esteem, plain though she was. She was a bit of an eyesore, really. She coloured so horribly when embarassed, turning the sort of violet that a thumb would turn after being smashed with something like a Bludger. But she held herself above others, above the entire school, proclaiming proudly that she alone would fight off the carnal desires that the rest of the student body willingly submitted and succumbed to.
"I have more dignity than that. I'll be better than the whole lot of you, sleeping around like you do."
That was what she said. You used to be just like her, thinking you were far too dignified to lower yourself to the dismal levels to which everyone else flocked. You'd not wanted to conform. But in the end, tired of being left out and overshadowed, you'd given in. She came crawling into your bed not even a week later begging for release ("Please help me. Please. I can't take it. It's all I hear about. It's just sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. Please...show me."). She'd grabbed your hand, pressing kisses along your palm and you'd told her to trust you.
[Everyone's here, Watiting for you to finally be one of us.]
It was apparent that her resolve had shattered. Her resistance was no more. It disintegrated further when your lips brushed her neck and she'd moaned, arching up into you.
"You're no different from the others," you hissed, "no different at all. Stupid little girl, thinking you were so much better than us. You're just the same."
She reached up, clawing at your back through the fabric of your nightclothes.
"Please," she begged, "be gentle."
[Come down. You may be full of fear, But you'll be safe here]
"There's no such thing," you growled into the concave of her ear before you pressed your thigh roughly into her virgin mound, hearing her breath hitch in her throat.
Her hair was thick and frizzy and curly, and it had a tendency to want to crawl up your face and smother you as you pressed down against her, avoiding her lips. There was nothing for you, not there in the bed with the slowly deflowering child underneath you whimpering and gasping.
"I won't be gentle," you say, roughly yanking her paisley pajama top from her thin, frail-looking, freckled body and tearing her panties from her, "but I won't hurt you." (Keep those fingers crossed behind your back, but don't let her see. She may run away if she knew you were lying.)
[When you finally trust me, Finally believe in me-]
She nodded slowly, swallowing hard.
"I-I trust you," she whispered, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.
[I will let you down. I'll let you down. When you finally trust me, Finally believe in me.]
You felt a malicious smile cross your lips, and you felt so deliciously corrupt that you couldn't help but laugh.
"Trust is overrated," you purred before parting her nether lips and driving your fingers in, disregarding her sharp, penetrating scream.
Her muscles clenched and your fingers were frozen in place, a mere atom's breadth from the hymen. You snarled, tensing your arm muscles but not pushing forward. You curled the fingers of your free hand ino her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat as she let out a choked sob.
"This is what you asked for. This is what you wanted. You wanted to be just like everyone else. Just like I did. I will unmake you in the very same way I was unmade," you chuckled in her ear, licking away those hot tears.
You shoved forward, ignoring her scream, ignoring the tiny smidgen of hot, sticky blood oozing over your hand. You pumped your hand in and out of her, and after a short while she relaxed her muscles. After a while, she began to move to meet your hand, she began to moan. (Stupid child. Even you couldn't resist it. What had made her think she could have?) When she finally came, she moaned deep in her throat, arching her back, and you could feel her individual ribs pressing into your chest.
[Trust me.]
You'd wiped your hand on her nightshirt and told her to get out before she got caught. She'd protested at first, and you all but threw her out. You stuck your head out the door of your private bedroom (privileged, you were) and asked her if she trusted you that it was for her own good. She bit back her tears, nodded yes, and hobbled off to her room. She was so much like you when you first discovered the marvels of sex that you smiled and even laughed, closing your door on her retreating back.
[I'll be here when you need me. You'll be safe here.]
She came to you the next morning at your spot at the breakfast table and sat down, smiling shyly. She'd leaned against your shoulder and said good morning with a giggle. You nodded stiffly in her general direction and continued on talking to Ron.
[And when you finally trust me, Finally believe in me-]
She tugged on your sleeve, getting up on her knees on the bench and whispering the question of whether or not you were "going steady" with her now in your ear. You nearly choked on your toast. You pounded yourself on the chest and swallowed gulp after gulp of water. You turned to her and laughed sardonically.
"You're kidding, right?" you'd laughed.
She blinked, looking hurt, wondering what was so funny.
[I will let you down. When you finally trust me, Finally believe in me.]
"It was just a one-night thing. Actually, more like a bet I had going on between Lavender, Pansy, and myself," you explained.
Those doe brown eyes went wide and tears filled them immediately. You laughed some more, and laughed even harder when Pansy sauntered over from the door, tie loosened, hair slightly mussed, and shirt partially unbuttoned and draped herself about your shoulders. Her eyes darted over to the slightly traumatized-looking little girl beside you.
"Aw, damn. Tell me you didn't," she groaned.
"Oh, but I did," you crowed.
Pansy sighed, digging in her pocket and pulling out five sickles and placing them in your breast pocket.
"See, I was right. I'm not the only bitch in this...thing," she giggled, turning and walking backwards and blowing you a kiss, "Fuck ya later, lover."
You'd proceeded to explain to her that Pansy and Lavender had bet that the sweet, innocent little girl of Gryffindor would forever be a virgin. And even if she did lose her virginity, she most certainly would never tell you (dignified, honorable, noble, intelligent Prefect you are) because she saw you as too pristinely pure to ever be the slut you truly were, much less would she approach you and ask you to take it. But she had. And you did. You never batted an eye as she burst into tears, bawling loudly about how she thought you loved her. You didn't blink once as she staggered to her feet and nearly bowled the doors of the Great Hall down in her rush to get away from you. She slammed into Harry on the way out, who just shook his head and walked over to you, sitting down across from you and posing the question, "Christ, Hermione. What'd you do to -her-?"
You only shrugged, and Ron laughed, clapping Harry on the back and saying, "Och. No worries 'bout it, mate. Stupid little shit wanted to know all about sex, so 'Mione just taught her. She asked for it, though. Got what she deserved. Should she have just kept her mouth shut, she'd never've gotten hurt. But, hell, she's never been able to shut her trap."
[Never want to come down.]
They found her later, hanging from the Astronomy Tower by her necktie. But oddly enough, no one really seemed to care. It was as if she'd been erased from everyone's memory. No one cried at the funeral except her Mum and Dad, and when you all went back to Hogwarts, it was as if nothing at all had happened. No one really noticed that vapid, flaming redhead, naive Ginny Weasley was dead. All in all, she was just another brick in the wall. [1]
FIN
Footnotes: [1] "Brick in the Wall" -Pink Floyd
-I don't own this, either.